Rafe POV
“Rafe, how did that poor girl get home if her clothes are on the floor?” My mother’s voice fills the house. I’d forgotten she was coming—but strangely, I feel as if a weight is lifting from my chest, though I can’t quite place why.
The smell of freshly brewed coffee drifts up the stairs, filling the house with its warm aroma. When I reach the kitchen, my mother is standing with her back to me. Her short hair, once a light brown, is now more grey than she’d like—but it suits her. She’s on her tiptoes, reaching into the cupboard for mugs; the morning light pools across the counter and glints off the handles.
“Good morning, Mother.” I kiss the top of her head and open the cupboard, getting out a third mug for Mikayla, who’s following me down the stairs. Usually, I’d have made a g
